


One Last Time

by zahnie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Awkward Conversations, Bad Parent John Winchester, Child Neglect, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Gen, Helpful Castiel (Supernatural), Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Resurrected Mary Winchester, Season/Series 12, Spells & Enchantments, the only reason this isn't tagged Destiel is because they don't interact on page
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25518451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zahnie/pseuds/zahnie
Summary: Mary told her boys she needs space. What she really needs is to see her husband and kids the way she remembers them, one last time.
Relationships: John Winchester/Mary Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 126





	One Last Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenmonstermash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenmonstermash/gifts).



> Begins just after 12.03 "The Foundry" with a brief wander into pre-canon.
> 
> So you know how you're watching a show and go 'what if...' but then you can't find fic of your idea so you write it yourself? This is one of those. And done in less than a week, which I always enjoy :D
> 
> This fic is a gift for greenmonstermash because all of my Supernatural fic are ultimately for her, whether she asks for them or not :D
> 
> Title is just from my brain, although [the Ariana Grande song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wg92RrNhB8s) DOES have some relevant lyrics in the verses.

Mary isn't lying when she says she needs space and time to grieve the life she had. She leaves the bunker without packing. She'll be back.

It hurts to leave them. For all she's only known these versions of her sons for a week, Mary loves them. It would hurt to stay too. There's no avoiding the pain.

She left without a plan, without a dollar to her name. For one awful second, she thinks about taking the Impala. But only for a second. Dean loves that car even more than John does... did.

Instead, she takes the car her boys used while Dean was fixing the Impala. The keys are in the sun visor. They won't mind too much. She'll make it up to them.

Mary lasts a day and a half by herself before she calls Castiel. It's the middle of the night but he answers at once. “Are you hurt?”

Mary blinks. Oh, right, he has call display. “No, I'm fine. Castiel, I... need a favour.”

There's a pause. She can't imagine his expression, they don't know each other well enough. She shouldn't be asking him for this. “What is it?” he finally asks.

Mary takes a deep breath. “I want to go back in time.”

“I can't,” Castiel says at once.

“Just for a little while! Dean told me you—”

He cuts her off. “I'm not strong enough. I'm sorry.”

This isn't why Mary thought he would say no. “Please, Castiel. I... In order to move on, I need to see John and my boys the way I remember them.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Just once, please, just one last time.”

He doesn't answer for a long time. Mary covers her mouth with her hand so he can't hear her crying.

“It would help to see them?” Castiel asks.

“Yes.” Mary just about chokes on the word.

“I know someone who might... show you a vision of the past.” He sounds hesitant. “It is not without risk.”

A witch, then. Or a seer. “Anything,” Mary says.

“I will ask,” Castiel says.

“Thank you,” Mary says. “Please don't tell Dean or Sam I asked you for this.”

Castiel sighs. “I doubt it would make much difference,” he says, wearily, and hangs up on her.

***

It takes three days before Castiel turns up at her door. Mary spends most of that time watching television and trying to make the internet happen on her phone. The knock at her motel room door is unexpected.

When Mary opens it, baseball bat in hand, the elegant woman in the sparkly dress beside Castiel actually laughs. “You can see where they get it from,” she says. “Whyever do all the Winchesters find me so _threatening_?” She flicks her long red hair back gracefully with one hand and saunters into Mary's room like she owns the place.

Castiel looks harassed. “This is Rowena. Don't worry, Mary, I will guard you.”

“How _very_ frightening. I'm positively quaking at the depth of your celestial power,” Rowena says to Castiel, her Scottish accent growing more pronounced with sarcasm. She smiles at Mary. “There's absolutely nothing to guard against. I'm just ever so pleased to finally meet you!”

Mary forces a smile and puts the bat down while she tries to think if Dean or Sam ever mentioned Rowena before. Then, she remembers. “Are you that witch who can put Lucifer back in the Cage?” she asks, incredulously. What was Castiel thinking, bringing someone so powerful here?

Rowena beams. “I certainly am. It's so gratifying when one is recognized for one's accomplishments.”

“You haven't done it yet,” Castiel says, his voice flat.

Rowena rolls her eyes. “Well,” she huffs, “I _will_ do it, which should count just the same.”

“Thank you for agreeing to help me,” Mary says, quickly. The damage is done. She might as well try to get what she wants.

“What's such a small, _secret_ , favour between friends?” Rowena asks, smiling at Mary. “Well, our sons are friends, I suppose.”

“Our... sons?” Mary is lost again. It's such a familiar feeling here in the future that she almost doesn't mind anymore.

“Oh, I know, I hardly look old enough to have such a grown-up lad as the King of Hell.” Rowena laughs again.

Mary says, “No, you don't look old enough at all,” just to be polite. Rowena may seem youthful but Mary can see the years in her eyes.

Rowena claps her hands. “We're getting along so much better than I thought we would! Now, down to business, I'm a busy woman and I'm sure you are too.” She glances significantly around the shabby motel room.

Mary doesn't care. She never was that house-proud, even when they had one. “Did Castiel tell you what I'm asking for?”

“A vision of your husband and wee boys,” Rowena says at once. “Easy as pie. Stand over there.” She points to a spot near the wall in front of her.

When Mary walks over, Castiel follows her. He stands beside her, his eyes locked on Rowena.

“Now, you _cannot_ move your feet,” Rowena continues, pulling a bowl and three ziplock baggies out of her large designer handbag. “They are your anchor. If you do, it'll break the spell.” She pours the contents of the first baggie into the bowl. “Just you watching a scene from the past.” The second baggie of ingredients goes in. “Remember, they'll neither see nor hear you.” The third, with a brisk stir of Rowena's bony finger. “Ready?”

Mary nods, her throat tight.

Rowena says something Mary can't understand and between one blink and the next, she's gone. Instead, Mary is looking into another room.

But it's still a motel room, larger than hers but just as rundown. There's an unmade bed in the corner and a hint of another in the much smaller room beyond. There's a couch in front of her with two boys sitting on it, watching television. The younger one is sitting on the arm of the couch.

“Did you do your homework?” the older boy asks, suddenly, and Mary is startled to recognize Dean. His voice is different, neither the young child she remembers nor the man whose longing brought her back from the dead.

The younger boy, Sam, rolls his eyes. “It's the third grade. I did it in class.”

Mary does a quick calculation. Sam is eight or so. Dean must be twelve then. About seven years later than she'd hoped to see.

She's just about to tell Rowena about the mistake when Sam asks, “When is Dad coming back? I'm hungry.”

“I'll get you something tomorrow,” Dean says, looking stricken.

Mary narrows her eyes. She thought Sam meant they were waiting for John to come back for dinner. The window beside her is dark. It's late.

“Where does he go?” Sam asks, eyes on the TV like he doesn't expect an answer. He's both too small and too big. It's so strange to see them both at these ages.

“I _told_ you, Sammy, he's working,” Dean says.

Sam sighs heavily. “You _always_ say—”

Dean sits bolt upright. “Hear that?” he asks.

Mary hears it too. The distinctive rumble of the Impala, coming closer.

Sam slips off the couch arm. “He's back! Can I—”

Dean interrupts him again. “Go to bed, you're not supposed to be up.” He waves toward the bedroom. The rumble is louder now.

Sam crosses his small arms. “I don't wanna,” he says. Mary can see how tired he is but also, how stubborn.

“Sammy, come on,” Dean pleads. “I'll get in trouble.” The rumble stops and Dean's eyes widen. Mary is surprised by how intense he is. He's still a child, but she can see traces of the battle-ready adult he'll become. It's too early for this.

Sam's arms drop. He wavers.

“ _Please_ ,” Dean whispers urgently. Mary is breathing faster. She doesn't like this.

Sam sighs and goes into the bedroom. He closes the door just as the main motel door opens and a man walks in.

Mary gasps. For a moment, she didn't recognize John. He looks so... defeated.

“How'd it go?” Dean asks, standing up beside the couch.

John drops his duffle bag on the floor near the door. It clanks. Mary knows that sound. Weapons. John wasn't out working, he was hunting.

“Killed it,” John says, wearily. He shuffles over.

“You said a week,” Dean says. “It's been ten days.” Mary sees his fists clench.

John collapses onto the couch. He doesn't answer, just changes the channel.

“Dad?” Dean asks.

Finally, John looks at him for the first time. “What do you want me to say? It took longer than I thought.”

He left them for _ten days_? Dean's old enough to watch Sam after school, maybe overnight, but not for so long all alone.

John pulls a bottle out of the coat he's still wearing. Dean stares at it. “You drove drunk again,” he says, like he can't believe it. “You _promised_.”

“Quiet down, Sammy's asleep,” John says, not looking at him.

“Dad! You can't do that!” Dean shouts.

John jumps to his feet. Dean flinches back at his sudden movement. Mary's heart is in her throat.

“Don't you tell me what to do!” John roars. He brings his hand up like he might—

Mary steps forward, ready to protect her son, and both Dean and John vanish.

Rowena is standing in front of her. “Had enough?” she asks, sweetly.

Mary is having trouble breathing. Castiel hovers beside her. As soon as she has enough air, Mary gasps, “What happened next? Send me back!”

“No can do, I'm afraid,” Rowena says, fake sorrow in her voice. “I only brought enough ingredients for one vision. Castiel said that would be all you needed.”

Mary gestures wildly. “It was the wrong time, _years_ later. But I need to know what happened!”

Rowena is unmoved. “Well, then you should've stood still.” She shakes the bowl she's still holding contemplatively. “Though it wouldn't have lasted much longer anyway.” She tips it toward Mary so she can see the dusty ashes inside.

“No.” Mary shakes her head. “That can't be the end. Please!”

“I don't know why you're so upset, I held up my end of the bargain,” Rowena complains.

Castiel steps between them as Mary starts to protest again. “We can go now. Thank you,” he says to Rowena.

“Catch me doing a favour for you again,” Rowena mutters. She stomps across the room, her nose in the air.

Castiel watches her warily, keeping his body between Mary and the witch. Mary's blood is up. She's ready for a fight. The only thing holding her back is the knowledge of how powerful Rowena is.

Rowena crosses the threshold and spins around. Castiel tenses up, blocking the doorway. Rowena gives him a scornful once-over. “I meant to say,” she calls to Mary over his shoulder, “That spell doesn't show you what you want to see. It shows you what you _need_ to see. Not my doing if you don't like what was revealed.”

Mary gapes at her. How could she have needed to see that?

Rowena smiles, turns on her heel, and vanishes in a puff of smoke.

Castiel's shoulders relax fractionally. He steps forward, as if he's going to leave too.

“Wait,” Mary says.

Castiel turns. He looks like he wishes he was anywhere else.

Mary takes a deep breath. After a moment, she manages a weak smile. “Thank you. For trying.”

He ducks his head a little. “I'm sorry it just made things worse.”

He walks away before Mary figures out how to reply without just agreeing. She closes the door and leans her forehead against it for a long time.

She needs to call Dean, to ask him about that night. She remembers his face when she left the bunker. Neither of them are handling this well. Sam's doing better but Mary knows that's because he didn't have any memories of her to be challenged by reality.

When she calls, Dean answers at once. “Mom? Are you okay?”

Mary smiles in spite of herself at the similarity to how Castiel answered her call. “I'm fine, Dean. I just... I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Anything. What is it?” Dean asks. He's tense, ready to spring into action for her.

“I had a vision of the past,” Mary says. She winces, and continues quickly. “It doesn't matter how. What I wanted to ask you was: do you remember, when you were about twelve, one night your dad came back from a hunt?”

“Uh,” Dean says.

Mary prompts, “You and Sammy were watching TV but you told him to go to bed when you heard the car? And then John came in and he'd been gone longer than he thought and...” She trails off, not knowing how to phrase what she actually wants to know.

“Mom, I don't... that isn't really, uh, specific enough? It was a long time ago.” His voice is strained.

Mary closes her eyes. She wishes she waited to ask Dean in person, so she could see his face. “He'd been drinking.”

“Okay?” Dean asks. “I thought he sometimes did way back when too. Didn't he?”

Not like that. “You were scared of him,” she says.

“Mom.” Dean pauses for a moment. “It was a long time ago,” he repeats.

Mary lets out her breath. “So you do remember? Did he hit you?”

“No, I don't remember, I just—what?”

“Did your father hit you boys?” Mary asks again.

“Mom, it wasn't like that. Look, Dad went hunting a lot, I looked after Sammy a lot, sometimes I went with him, it all just blurs together after a while,” Dean says. He clears his throat. “I gotta go, okay? I'll talk to you soon.”

Mary stares at her phone after he hangs up, trying to work it through. She knows Dean wanted to be reassuring. He and Sam are awkward talking about John to her. She thought it was grief. Now, she's wondering if the answer is more complicated.

Her phone rings in her hand. Mary almost drops it but her reflexes take over and she holds on. Sam's picture comes up on the display. “Hello?” she answers.

“Hey, Mom, is everything alright?” Sam asks. “I thought I heard Dean talking to you.”

“Yes, he was. How are you?” Mary says inanely.

Sam breathes out in half of a laugh. “I'm fine. Just trying to research the British Men of Letters some more.”

Mary nods, even though he can't see her. “That's good.”

“How are _you_ , Mom? It sounded like you were asking Dean about something in particular.”

How much did Sam hear? Mary says, cautiously, “I wanted to check if something was true. He couldn't remember.”

“Maybe I can. What was it?” Sam asks.

Mary takes a deep breath. “When you were kids, did your father leave you two alone a lot?”

“Oh,” Sam says. “Yeah, he did, but Dean took care of me.”

“He shouldn't have had to.”

“Honestly, Dad couldn't, a lot of the time. I know it would've been different if you were there. But we got through it.”

“Did John ever hit you or Dean?” Mary asks. She's dreading the answer. Sam is more likely to tell her the truth.

“Wow, um. It wasn't—he'd kind of smack us, lightly, sometimes. Dean more than me. He, uh, got mad at Dean more than me.”

Mary doesn't know what to say.

Sam keeps going. “Even if it was just me who screwed up, Dad would get mad at Dean too. I used to yell at him, that it wasn't fair. It drove me crazy how Dean would just—he wanted to be just like Dad and I couldn't figure out _why_.”

Mary wonders if Sam has ever said this out loud before. The words are spilling out of him.

“They didn't tell me about hunting for a long time. I hated not knowing then, but I'm grateful now. I got to have a bit of a childhood. I think Dean's ended the day you died.”

Sam stops, like he just remembered who he is talking too. “Oh, Mom, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound like I'm blaming you.”

“I know, it's okay, Sam,” Mary says, automatically.

“This kind of stuff is hard to hear, probably,” Sam says, gently.

Mary loves how empathetic Sam can be. How did he learn that, growing up? “It is,” she agrees. “I have a lot to make up for.”

“You don't,” Sam reassures her. “We're just glad you're back. You don't really have to do anything else.”

Mary's eyes fill with tears. “I'll come back home sometime. I promise.”

“Okay,” Sam says.

“I love you,” Mary says, trying to keep her voice steady.

There's the briefest of pauses before Sam says, “I love you too.”

“Tell Dean too?”

“Of course.”

“Bye, Sammy,” Mary says, and hangs up.

She sits down on the bed, drained and angry at the same time. She wishes John was alive. She'd give him a piece of her mind. How could he have become so obsessed with avenging her that he couldn't see the kids right in front of him?

Mary takes a deep, shuddering breath. She has to do better. She has to sort herself out so she can be there for her boys. Even though they are grown up now. Even though she can't change what happened.

They can create new memories together. They can be a family.

Now, they have time to get it right.


End file.
